Page 86 of Callous Shot

Ascending the winding staircase, I reached the tall window that bisected the small landing that split into two further sets of stairs, each leading to a separate wing of the house. Moonlight glinted on the glass, a shaft hitting the huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, refracting silver light around me. I paused for a second, holding my breath as I listened to make sure I was still alone, and then I took the staircase to my left.

“Nolan?”

I jumped out of my fucking skin as a slight, shadowy figure appeared in the doorway of the bedroom opposite mine. Rubbing at my chest in an attempt to calm my racing heart, I exhaled slowly. “It’s me. Lincoln.”

My mother detached herself from the shadows. “Lincoln. Did you come to see your brother?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing hard. This was another reason I hated coming home. Sometimes she pretended that my dead brother was alive, and even worse…sometimes she called me by his name.

“I came back to get some things from my room.”

“Come and see your brother’s new rug.”

My fucking father enabled her delusions, and I knew it couldn’t be healthy. She was so composed, so ruthless in business, and it was so hard to reconcile the seasoned lawyer with this fragile-looking woman floating around in a silk dressing gown late at night, talking to ghosts.

Steeling myself, I stepped into the room. It was decorated identically to mine, its mirror opposite, but this room was filled with love. An unhealthy love, yes, but I guessed it was easier to project your ideals onto a person who didn’t exist, rather than the living, breathing, flawed human who was still around.

I think that was one of the reasons they sent me away to boarding school so early. They didn’t want the reminder of what they’d lost, that I’d lived and he hadn’t survived.

“It’s a handmade silk-wool blend. I got it for his birthday. I thought he’d appreciate it.” She caught herself. “If he were here.”

I let out a breath. Okay, good. She wasn’t pretending he was alive.

“He would,” I said gently. “Maybe we should get some sleep. It’s getting late.”

“Yes.” She blinked, the hazy, faraway expression instantly disappearing from her eyes. Then there was the hard, ruthless woman I knew, straightening her shoulders as she took on her usual haughty tone. “What are you doing here? You should be at your university.”

“I told you, I came back here to get some things from my room. I’m staying the night. You know I sleep better here.” That was a lie—I barely slept when I was in this echoing mansion, but my mother didn’t know that. She had no interest in my life. I turned the question back on her before she could interrogate me any further. “Aren’t you supposed to be in London?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I needed some files from my office for my case.” She stepped towards the door, already bored with our conversation. “I’ll be returning tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Good luck with the case.”

Giving me a sharp nod, she swept out of the room, leaving me alone.

I scrubbed my hand over my face. Between my fingers, I stared down at the expensive rug. A gift for Nolan’s birthday.

My parents hadn’t even remembered mine.

A memory tore through my mind, sudden, vivid, and devastating, leaving me gasping for breath.

“Happy birthday to you,” three of the staff members intoned. I fidgeted in my seat, wishing I could change out of my uncomfortable, scratchy shorts. At the head of the giant dining table, my father had his nose buried in the paper, and across from me, my mother was busy consulting with the gardener…something about flowers and seasons.

I sighed, glancing to my left at the empty chair. A plate, shiny cutlery, and a crystal cup were on the table in front of it.

“Seven years old!” the chef announced, placing a towering cake in front of me. I couldn’t even reach the top to blow out the candle. Carefully, I climbed up on my knees, balancing my hands on the edge of the table.

The tablecloth material was shiny and slippery, and— Oh, no! My hands were sliding on the material, and my knees were wobbling. Quickly, I grabbed at the cloth to stop myself from toppling over, but that was the worst decision I could’ve made. I was falling.

There was a loud crash as my body hit the floor, with cutlery and cake raining around me. I curled into a ball as the edge of my plate struck the side of my head.

I cried out in pain.

A hand came down, yanking me upright. I stumbled, agony radiating down my arm as it was pulled, hard.

“Lincoln! What do you think you are doing?” My father’s voice was full of rage, and I automatically flinched away from him, my lip trembling.

“I-I’m sorry. It-it was an accident.”