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“Trouble seems to find me.” I give a noncommittal shrug.
“I think you are trouble, Marisa.”
I hope I’m trouble and more, Kieran Lazarus. I hope I’m trouble enough to uncover your shady truths. Trouble, is what I should have been all along.
“This is not where you lock me away as a sacrifice at your creepy party, is it?”
He snorts. “If I wanted you dead, there were plenty of opportunities.”
Seek what is below. Below the waters.
“That is not what I said though.”
He pushes through and I pause at the threshold. The room inside is swallowed by soot, frozen in the moment of its own destruction.
“What is this?”
“How long have you been seeing Daisy?” he asks.
“Since the night I woke up.”
Drawn to the feel of the room, I step inside.
We might have been here before.
Deja-vu whatever it is. I take in the wallpaper; small daisies painted against a faded white. The edges peel away, and the walls around it crumble with age. It is a room trapped in a single, suffocating moment of the past.
“Is this the woman you have been seeing?” he asks. He sifts through a box, pulling out a tattered photo and hands it to me.
A thunderous boom rattles the windows. Outside, lightning forks across the sky, striking a tree with vicious precision. The crack resounds through the cold, empty room.
The image settles into my hands as the storm intensifies. Kieran lights a candle and holds it to the picture. The woman’s face emerges. Her eyes gleam with captured sunlight, her lips set in a stern, permanent frown. She’s wearing a wedding dress, a satisfied smile on her lips. Around her are a few faces out of focus.
“This is Daisy,” I say, softly.
“So, you can see the pictures too?” he asks, excitement dancing across his face.
“What do you mean?” I prod, the image slipping from my fingers and settling in the dust.
“Houses have pictures, paintings…decor. A house like mine definitely has it all. I haven’t been able to see faces in portraits as far back as I can remember.”
“What does this have to do with Daisy? She’s wearing a wedding dress.” My mouth fills with venom.
“I haven’t met anyone else who is able to see pictures.”
He’s lying.
“I’m not understanding.” My eyes narrow to slits. He’s dancing around the truth. And this isn’t his house.
“Pictures are a part of memories, right? What if I told you this house as well as you are, is a living breathing thing, when I first arrived here…”
“First arrived here?”
“Yes. Your mind holds memories in the form of images, correct? Well, the house’s images were all missing. But slowly, a few have revealed themselves. It’s another strange phenomenon of being here.”
I raise a hand to my scar. The coolness of my fingertips soothes the tiny jumping veins beneath my skin long enough for me to register, he’d done this to me. He had to have been the one.
“Don’t you see? I have this theory that images only reveal themselves when people who’ve experienced the same memories are near one another. Here—” He hands me another one. It’s Daisy. Then another one, handing me images frantically.
