The room went silent. Edward stopped his incessant shouting, and William’s heart seemed to give out to him. All that was left was the whispered scratch as both men watched an unseen nail gouge two words into the wallpaper over and over.
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“I can’t,” Edward shouted, fury boiling the air around him. “You know I can’t!”
Edward was a blur, throwing his body to the wall, blocking it from William’s line of sight. He began clutching at the words, smudging his blood across them, using his ruined nails as if he could peel back the plaster and stone, forever hiding the words from view.
William tried to stop him but was knocked back with a push. He needed to do something, anything; otherwise, this madness would never cease. He spun around the room, unable to focus on the fact he’d just seen words etch themselves into a wall by themselves. If he weren’t so panicked, so completely overwhelmed by Edward’s disturbing wails, perhaps he would’ve seen the reflection in the tall, dark window. He might’ve noticed the glistening red coat and the dark eyes of a presence that watched on, pleased with the chaos it birthed.
Instead, William’s eyes fell on a candle stick – cliché. He clutched it, fuelled by the need for peace, and without another thought, smacked it into the back of Edward’s head. The crack was horrible.
A chaos-ruining thud, followed by the bliss of nothingness.
Edward crumpled to the floor, his body folding in on itself. William stood over him, wide-eyed and trembling. The candle stick slipped from his fingers, soundlessly bouncing across the carpet. And then that peace William desired so much became so loud in his ears that he feared nothing would ever break it.
Looking between Edward’s motionless body and the wall of blood smears and carved-out words, he couldn’t put together how two words could have such an effect on a person – enough to harm themselves, enough to drive them mad. Then again, William had been the one to drive a candle stick into his skull. There’d not been much thought before that happened.
Madness didn’t discriminate. It came for even the soundest of souls, it had claimed Edward as its husband and took him from William. And then William, the jealous witness, fought back.
He supposed that Hanbury Manor could change a person, that its violent past had a way of worming itself into a person’s marrow.
Edward just stopped, bleeding and broken, on the floor.
With two trembling fingers, William found what he thought was a pulse in Edward’s neck. Faint, but there. Relief was short lived when the scratching sounds began again. Head whipping around the room for the cause, William knew with a burning certainty, that he had to leave the room. Burn it down, if that was what it took to stop the walls from being carved with words.
He wouldn’t leave Edward behind. Not now, not ever.
Hooking arms beneath Edward’s body, William dragged him out of the drawing-room, closing the door on it for the foreseeable. Blood coated the back of Edward’s head, coating the hairs in sticky knots. William tried not to worry about the extent of the damage until he got Edward onto the sofa in the back living room. He was clammy by the time he was done, but at least the sounds had dulled to a far-off whisper.
Whatever lurked back in the drawing room had not followed them. Appeased, maybe, that Edward was out cold.
“If you die, Edward,” William gasped, lungs aching with each hulking inhale. “I’ll… I’ll fucking find a way to kill you.”
William could almost hear Edward’s sarcastic reply whisper in his ear. “How can you kill me if I’m already dead?”
He sat on the floor beside the sofa, his hand clutching Edward’s horrible-still fingers, head resting on his too-still chest, and waited. For death to claim Edward, or for the horror to catch up and claim them both.
Hours passed, long and drawn out like an unrelenting winter.
William spent his time cleaning Edward’s hands, picking small bits of glass out of the nasty gashes that would need stitches. He washed the wounds down with warm water and bandaged them with the torn strips of a white shirt he’d brought to Hanbury with him. Satisfied with his work, he sat back on the floor beside the sofa, laid a gentle hand over Edward’s chest and found himself drifting.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but there was a rhythmic peace to Edward’s heartbeat which lulled him into a sense of safety. It could’ve been minutes, perhaps hours more, but it seemed William could never quite fall deep enough. Reality lingered too close to the edges of his mind. Every sound, every rasped breath or stirring, had him bolting up.
It was the boom of thunder that finally woke Edward too. The deafening boom shook the manor, snapping both men out of their slumbers. Rain slapped against the backdoors, coating the glass in a thick film which made seeing beyond it impossible. Smudges of dark clouds painted the sky, angry and vicious like the headache rumbling in William’s skull.
“Good… morning, is it?” Edward groaned, shifting carefully onto his haunches to push to a sitting position. There was no ignoring the sharp hiss he emitted as he used his bandaged hands. The pain reminded him of everything that had happened because Edward lifted his hands before him, turmoil creasing his sickly pale face.
“I wouldn’t call it good, nor would I call it morning,” William croaked, throat as dry as summer sands. “But you are awake, that’s what matters.”
Alive, his thoughts corrected what he wasn’t brave enough to speak aloud.
Edward’s scowl deepened as he gazed down at his useless hands. “I guess my hope that it was all a bad dream has just been thrown back in my face.”
William’s arse was numb, his spine aching from the slumped position he’d found himself sleeping on. Regardless of the storm outside, he was hyperaware that his head had been resting on Edward’s thigh and was sure a hand had been laid on the back of his head – his messy hair certainly suggested as much.
“Unfortunately, not a dream,” William replied, jumping as another thunderclap crashed outside. “You were… wild, Edward. I didn’t know what to do… I was panicking and–”
Edward rested a pained hand on William’s frantic one. There were no words offered, just a soft look, and gentle silence. It was enough for William to catch himself. “I don’t hold anything against you.”
