Once his phone was on charge, William began throwing his belongings into his bag. Before arriving at Hanbury he was the type of person to fold every item meticulously. Now, he stuffed clothes into the bag, rumpled and messy, just like his mind was. All the while, he couldn’t rid himself of Edward’s taste.
During his search, he found something that didn’t belong to him. William was on his belly, sweeping under the bed for his own missed items. Instead, he found Edward’s bag. He pulled it out, the leather smell itching at his nose.
A rattle of metal sounded against the floor.
Of all the things William’s mind imagined he’d find falling out of the bag, car keys wasn’t one of them.
Car keys suggested Edward had, well, a car. Except Edward had said he’d arrived by train and walked to Hanbury. Was that a lie, too? Most likely, considering the keys resting in his outstretched palm. But why? Why would Edward lie about something so mundane?
The only person who could answer that question was the man downstairs.
William was just about to take the keys downstairs and confront Edward when his phone buzzed loudly against the wood, casting the room in a glow of artificial light. By the time he reached it again, the phone ignited in another buzz. Lifting it, hands steady, he saw the reason.
The solicitor’s email was stacked by the notifications of six missed calls – all from the same solicitor. What had William rushing to pick up his phone and unlock the screen was the single bar of service that flashed pleasantly in the top right corner. He began to pace the room, practically holding his breath as he clicked on the email and waited for it to load.
When the email finally opened, the black words printed against the stark white background, William almost dropped to his knees.
Good afternoon, Mr William Thorn,
I apologise for the long wait for my response. I received your voicemail and attempted to call you several times with no success. Regarding your question, we were not aware of Hanbury Manor’s past besides that of what we shared with you. We were appointed by the late Mr Thomas to execute his will, and that is all. Any information we were given has been handed to you in your pack. However, if you are having second thoughts about the ownership of Hanbury Manor, we are happy to assist with the potential sale of the property. We are sure, after such hard times you have recently been through, that dealing with the logistics of a sale is not something you would want to do.
If this helps makes your decision any easier, we already have an independent party interested in purchasing your property. We have noted here that Mr Thomas was in conversation with the said party before his passing, although he made no firm decisions on his stance of selling Hanbury. Hence, the property and its evident burdens have fallen upon you. If you want to speak directly with me, please call us back. Our office hours are at the bottom of the email. In the meantime, I have been permitted to send the name and email address of the interested party. If you would prefer to reach out to them beforehand. Details have been included below.
Please do reach out if you have any questions or come to a decision.
Name: Edward Jones-Taunton
Email: [email protected]
Kind Regards,
Sanjit R. Grant – S. R. Grants and Co LLC
William came away from the email, gasping for air. His collar constricted around a swelling throat, making breathing nearly impossible. Pulling at the material, he wanted to storm to the window and throw it open. But the storm raged outside, matching that which devoured him from the inside.
He couldn’t believe it – wouldn’t. Except there the truth was, in black and white before him. As if it made it any more believable, William re-read the email twice more, the name and email at the end, another seven times. But it didn’t change, no matter how he wished it would.
Edward Jones-Taunton. What was the chance that it was a close match to the man waiting downstairs?
Slim to none.
Hanbury Manor seemed to take a deep breath in and exhale. The walls grated, the old pipes clinking against one another. A shiver passed across every inch of stone and mortar until William realised that it was him who was shaking, not the house.
A breeze itched at his ear, shifting his hair from his shoulder. He spun around, ready to find Edward standing behind him, a knowing sneer plastered across his face. But there was nothing but shadow.
Clutching the phone in his hand and the car keys in another, William was armed with evidence he needed. So, when the bedroom door opened itself, swinging on old hinges, screeching wide until the empty landing beyond was on view, William moved towards it.
He didn’t care to contemplate what had opened it – he was far too furious for that.
He didn’t care to turn around and acknowledge the presence wearing Archie’s red coat, smiling through shadow with straight, white teeth. A victor’s smile.
He didn’t care about anything but Edward and his deceptions.
William practically threw himself down the stairs, his heart cantering in his throat. As he passed the many places on the wall where the wordstell himhad been scored out by Edward’s hand, he concluded that this was what the spirits tortured him with.
The truth.
William found Edward in the middle of his crime scene. Guilt did that to a person, it drove them back to the place where the darkness spilled like ink, entrapping them as a spider does with its web.
