25

I t had been three days and, usually, research was the only way to keep myself calm. Books rarely lied to me but I was starting to grow frustrated with the history of the town and the lack of information on just about everything surrounding the Manor.

The ache in my arm was fading, but the agonizing, tight, itchy feeling of the stitches healing was setting in. I was just praying it didn’t get infected due to our condemned lodgings. I could feel the dust crawling across my skin as I spread out what little research I had on the sitting room floor and flipped through old notes that I had taken. Wes sat across from me in one of the chairs, his fingers methodically cleaning a set of knives in deep concentration.

“I can’t find a single piece of information on Florence. It’s like she was scrubbed from history,” I mumbled, clicking back from the webpage into Google.

Wes’s eyes flickered up to meet mine. “Probably because it never fucking existed outside of this shit hole. I’ve searched every room and haven’t found a single T.V. This place is a black hole of boredom.” Dust kicked up off the floor into his face, causing him to sneeze and drop the knife in his hands. “This place is taunting us. ”

“It’s taunting you ,” I corrected him. The Manor, and whatever magic it held, had been somewhat pleasant to us since Koen had started paying more attention to Florence. Glimpses of her sweet smile flashed in my mind and, just like that, I was derailed again. I needed to focus. “If you took a moment to settle in and stop banging around…”

“You want me to play nice with a monster, and its monster mansion?” He mocked, leaning forward and scooping the knife off the floor by the handle.

“While we're living inside of it, it might be helpful?” I shook my head and started to type again, but Wes’s groan interrupted me. “What?” I looked at him.

“Let me kill it,” he said quietly, barely audible to anyone, but his lips moved slowly, and his intent was clear.

“You already tried,” I reminded him.

“I missed on purpose. It was a warning shot,” he snapped. ‘ Next time, I won’t miss,’ was said in his determined stare. “I understand how badly you want to figure out what’s going on here, Clay, but I just don’t think it’s worth it. No one is in danger, nothing has died except probably that thing.” He rolled his eyes and I knew he was speaking about Florence but I didn’t want to argue it.

“Listen.” I pushed up onto my knees and straightened my shoulders. “Whatever is going on here, it’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like it. The readings I’ve gotten from this place are like nothing in any of my books or notes. It’s hardcore, Wes.”

“So let it be hardcore from a distance. Keep researching it far away from here,” he argued, setting the knife down on the table. “Preferably somewhere with beer and bad reruns. ”

“No.” I shook my head. “If there is a shred of truth to her words, that this Manor has held her captive here, and living, which…” I shrugged and looked at him. “I’m estimating the likeness is around ninety percent by the evidence so far….”

He growled at the mention of percentages and it made me laugh.

“It could be very dangerous. I need to figure out if it’s hurt anyone or anything in the past, before or after Florence,” I explained. “And I need time to map out the layout. Did you notice it changes?” I asked him, ignoring his plea for retreat.

“A little, but for the most part I don’t leave this room unless I have to go into the run-down, rat-infested kitchen for food that turns rotten in hours of being within the walls.” He shrugged.

“We’ve had no actual confirmation of rodents of any kind since being here.” I rolled my eyes at him, and let the important piece of what he said sink in. “The food spoils?” My brows raised in question, and he nodded.

“The fact that you haven’t noticed is concerning. Have you stopped to eat at all in the last three days?” He asked me.

He wasn’t going to like the answer. “Florence has been bringing me food.”

Wes’ hand gripped the cloth tighter, his jaw clenching tightly in frustration. “You’re letting it feed you?”

“She’s actually quite hospitable, you should get to know her.” I shrugged. “And a very good cook. Yesterday she made–”

“Enough.” Wes stopped me. “How do you know it’s not slowly dosing the food? That poison isn’t coursing through you right now? Have you lost your fucking mind?” He laughed incredulously, it sounded cold and frustrated.

A fire sparked in the fireplace beside us, raging hot and angry, gone in the same second, leaving nothing but ashes.

Wes glared at me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “In fact, I’ve never felt better. You’re blowing all of this out of proportion.”

“Awesome, my brother is chasing ghost tail, and here you are being fed by it,” he snarled. “You’re both being infuriatingly reckless. Let me know if you find anything, I need a break from you.”

Wes stomped from the room, leaving me in silence again.

I climbed to my feet, grabbing a pen and notebook, before starting to draw the sitting room into my notes. I moved on only when I felt satisfied that the drawing captured what I saw. I wanted to show Florence the difference in our perspectives. Maybe it would help her understand.

It took me half the day to get the foyer, main kitchen, and a few of the hallways jotted down on my map, but every time I thought I had it figured out, I turned around to find the hallway leading in a different direction.

I pulled out my cell phone, brought up the compass, and held it flat. I could find my way back to the main rooms; I just needed a little guidance. When I looked down at the compass, the needle was spinning out of control, a tiny blur of white and red that never stopped.

“Okay, well…” I sighed and shoved it back into my trouser pocket.

I stopped again, trying to orientate myself, but the same hallway now went straight, and the feeling of being incredibly lost started to sink in. It was heavy on my chest but not panic, just confusion, which for me was almost worse. I looked down at the notebook in my hand, studying the map I had created. The hallway in front of me had definitely turned left before. It had been the way I came, but…

“Your party tricks are less than to be desired, Orchid Manor,” I whispered, chewing on my lip. “Are you leading me?” I asked, but nothing answered.

I walked down the changed hallway for what seemed like minutes but, after roughly forty-five seconds, I popped out by a set of doors. Dirty, like the rest of the glass, I could barely make out the back part of the property. I pulled my sleeve over my palm and cleared a circle in the dirt to admire the rolling farmscape. Wild grass grew for acres further than I could possibly measure. It was no wonder that Florence had gone so long unnoticed at the Manor. She was hidden deep behind farmland and miles of dense forest.

“Thank you for your help,” I whispered to the Manor as I jotted down the appearance of the doors and everything that had happened to bring me to them. It was hard to imagine that the Manor was supposed to be elegant and pristine when all I could see for feet was decaying wood and dust that settled in thick rugs.

“Are you lost?” Her voice draped over my shoulders, and I turned to find her in a dark green dress, similar to the one she was wearing the first time we met. It was tucked in tightly at the waist over a structured corset that hugged her curves. Her hair was half up, and the auburn waves were tied back with a crème ribbon that matched the embroidery on her skirt.

“Ms. Cabot.” I nodded as I acknowledged her. “It would seem that way,” I confessed, tearing my gaze away from hers. “I was trying to map out the house, but the further I explored, the more lost I became. ”

She stepped forward and I couldn’t help but close the distance between us as she angled to look at the map I had drawn. “You did very well,” she praised. “Oh that is one of my favorite chambers, it faces the east side of the house. It has a thicker window sill than other rooms and in the winter, if you open the window, the snow falls against the sill. You can scoop it into a bowl and enjoy it with sugar.” Florence practically hummed the story she was so excited to tell me.

I stared at her for a moment, taking in the innocence of her story and chuckled, slowly understanding why Koen was so enamored.

“I wanted to show you something.” I flipped the page for her, matching her enthusiasm and showed her the drawing of the parlor and then the kitchen in all their rotting, old glory.

“Is this how you see–” She paused and reached out to the wall beside her, green eyes exploring the peeling wallpaper with wonder. “You’ve been living in filth for nearly a week just to help me?” She looked over at me, confusion filling her expression but also gratitude.

“We’ve squatted in worse places and none with such a gracious, beautiful host–” I said before I could stop the compliment from blurting out. Who tells the most endearing stories from the prettiest of lips. My tongue grazed over my bottom lip and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I took a step back from her.

“You’re very kind, Mr. Dunn,” she responded with that sweet smile I had been itching to see.

I shook the feelings of curious need loose and tried to focus once again. “Do you know what this door is?” I pointed to a spot on the map, turning to see if it was still where I had left it but it was gone.

If memory served, it looked just as old as the rest of the house, and I could have sworn it pulsed like an artery. But the feeling had subsided as quickly as I had felt it. I had seen it once or twice in passing, but it never seemed to be in the same place…Like it was moving on its own.

Florence’s nose scrunched playfully, ignoring my question. Her hands still shook as she clasped them together and walked past me. “I think I have a room that will catch your interest.”

Doubt ran hot through me. No room could possibly be more interesting than whichever one she was in. I wanted to know more, every little detail that made her so enticing. I wanted to read Florence like a book.

The sweet smell of rosemary and oranges wafted from her as she passed under my nose, wandering down the hall into the darker part of the Manor. I followed her, keeping my eyes trained on how her skirts floated across the floor with each step she took.

It was enchanting.

“This way.” Her voice drifted toward me as I paused to shake free of the magnetism radiating from her. She stopped at the end of a long hallway, warm sconces on the wall that barely seemed lit but flickered as she passed each one.

“You aren’t leading me to a kill room, are you?” I asked her, but I was only met with soft laughter as she pushed open large wooden doors. Their hinges, rusted and barely holding the panels, were tangled with cobwebs and dirt.

“Just look,” she said, stepping out of my way.