Page 82 of Inked in Devotion

Theo didn’t want me to see our brother by myself. But I was here now. I tentatively shuffled one foot forward and then the other. The tunnel vision of my gaze grew narrower and narrower. Darkness loomed at the edges, and each step didn’t appear to eat up the distance. But I reached the foyer. It opened up to a domed ceiling, revealing three floors. The sweeping staircase was reminiscent of 1920s mansion architecture, minus the warm lighting. I imagined The Great Gatsby and women in flapper dresses. Jazz music on scratchy records playing on a gramophone.

Three panes of tall stained-glass windows made up the wall behind the stairs lined by carved stone creatures. All we needed was a gargoyle. The morning sun must be a welcome respite from the gloomy and heavy atmosphere.

The enclosed reception area was an odd structure beside the staircase. Thick windows surrounded all sides except the back wall, reminding me of banks. It was empty.

I scooted quickly across the grand foyer and made it to the opposite hallway. As my footsteps quickened, my eyes scanned the labels of the room. No names, just numbers.

I scoffed. To protect the occupants of this so-called wellness retreat.

1006

1008

1010

I turned right. An unseen force dragged me to the end of the hall.

1012

Of course, he needed a corner room. Two walls of picture windows facing the manicured lawn. Was this what Theo meant when he said he wouldn’t be doing harm again?

I slid the cover of the window on the door. A man was sitting in a chair and staring outside into the dark.

Jeremiah.

His head had been shaved for the surgery. The hair was growing back now, obscuring the scar courtesy of Kolya’s bullet. The bullet scars I’d given him were on his chest and shoulder.

I gripped the handle, and it didn’t budge. It was an electronic lock. I shook it as if sheer will would magically open it.

Jeremiah’s head tilted my way. He blankly stared at the opening in the door. He could only see my eyes.

“You don’t get to hide from the world and forget your sins.”

His expression didn’t change, and he turned his head back to stare outside.

“In case you don’t know, it’s Chloe. Remember me? You killed my mother.”

He didn’t react for a few seconds, then his shoulders rose and fell twice before he got up.

My heart rate escalated, hammering madly inside my rib cage.

His movements were slow. Measured. I wasn’t sure to what extent he had regained mobility.

His eyes appeared in the clear strip of glass. Slate blue and expressionless. He could be on meds.

“You’re angry,” he said.

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

“It’s obvious.”

I unleashed my accusations. “You killed them. The women.”

“They deserved to die.”

His words made me flinch, but it wasn’t still a confession.

“And my mother?” My voice pitched into a thready whisper. “You killed her too?”