Chapter Twenty One

M y cousin Tyson was strikingly similar to me in appearance, which was both fascinating and strange. We often used this resemblance to play pranks on others, but our plan had a significant flaw: our voices. Tyson's voice was rough, while mine had a sharper edge, and heavy. Beyond that, our personalities diverged; I was the more extroverted and accommodating one, while he thrived on being the center of attention for all the wrong reasons, often indulging in bullying.

I despised the negative image he created for himself, but everything changed when he was sentenced to ten years in prison for causing a boy to take his own life, a boy who was likely his classmate. I’m not sure how severe the bullying was, but it was notorious, as I heard from others during my vacation at my grandparents' place.

My family advised me to ignore the town's rumors and gossip and just enjoy my time there, which I did.

However, that turned out to be my last vacation there. I had to relocate with my parents to Hong Kong after my dad secured a well-paying job, and the company provided everything he needed, so it made sense.

Later that year, we received the tragic news that my uncle and aunt had died in a car accident while visiting a friend in a nearby town. Unfortunately, due to a typhoon, we were unable to find flights to the U.S. for a week.

My parents and I missed the funeral, but Tyson was granted a twenty-four-hour parole to attend. When my grandfather moved in with us after we relocated to NYC due to health issues, he passed away that same year. Tyson wasn’t allowed to visit him, as it would require transferring him from North Carolina to New York City, which wasn’t feasible.

Since then, I have not seen him.

News of his release travelled down through the family vines. He was just seventeen when he went to prison. I made plans to visit him, but then I learned he had gotten married and moved to Nevada. It felt like our connection had completely faded, and given his actions, I felt no attachment to him whatsoever.

It was only after I accepted the commission from Elijah Montgomery last year that I learned about Tyson and Willow. Considering the challenges he faced in his early years, his passing felt shockingly sudden and, for the most part, solitary.

Whether he was family or it was his ex-wife's new husband who hired me didn't matter much to me. Work is work. I had my own life, a wife, and a home to maintain. Bills needed to be paid, and luxuries required money. I couldn't afford to be selective about my projects; while I enjoyed the freedom my job offered, I still adhered to the rules of my business.

I had also promised Amery a good life when I persuaded her to move to Willow Crest. She left her lucrative job for me, so it was my responsibility to provide for her. Even though her automobile business took off and she started earning well, we decided to allocate our income into different categories: one for our future, one for investments, one for expenses, and one for when we decide to have children. To support all of that, I needed to earn more, regardless of my status as a high-priced artist. Some things just are what they are.

Taking on this job wasn't a necessity; it was my workaholic tendencies that drove me to do it.

However, everything changed when I met Willow. She was the new girl in town, having moved to the most unusual place imaginable.

Initially, she came to commission a piece, but then she started visiting frequently under the pretense of checking on the progress of her last-minute request for a dragon.

At first, I found it strange that her request mirrored the project I was already working on, and her name echoed that of the deceased woman in whose honor this piece was created. However, I pushed those thoughts aside and got to work.

As I learned more about her being a psycho artist, our shared interests began to emerge, leading to her frequent visits. She brought me my favorite spice cake and unusual flowers, even though I had a passion for gardening that leaned more towards growing vegetables and fruits, a hobby I inherited from my grandfather. I had no idea what kind of flowers she was gifting me.

I started to engage in behaviors I typically wouldn’t.

I upset my wife, ignored my best friend's concerns, visited a girl alone at her place when it wasn’t supposed to be just the two of us, and distanced myself from the friends I cherished. The shift in how I viewed myself was overwhelming, and as I dealt with headaches and physical changes, along with an emotional paranoia I couldn’t quite grasp, I found myself thinking that Willow was the solution. I didn’t read too much into our friendship.

It wasn’t until things spiraled out of control that my wife asked for a divorce. The shock of her words sent me reeling, caught between my confusion and the reality of what had been happening.

My anger took the reins, and things escalated until I found myself in prison, where I finally began to comprehend the situation.

Upon my release, for a few weeks, I focused on renovating the house, hoping to make it a place where my wife wouldn’t be haunted by memories upon her return.

But then, Willow started showing up. I sent her away on the first day, then the second, and it continued until the fourteenth day when I finally confronted her about her true intentions.

That’s when it hit me. She was far more complicated than I had realized.

The henchmen she brought with her ended up abducting me from my own fucking home.

Unexplainable events unfolded around me. I attempted to reach out to anyone, but it was futile. Every call was blocked. My cries went unheard until I finally managed to escape her place after being trapped there for over a month, regularly drugged. What I uncovered was something far more sinister than anyone had realized.

There isn't just one mansion in the Willow Crest tale; there are two, both designed to deceive.

If you venture there in the morning, the surrounding woods and the lake will create an illusion that guides you to a similarly styled mansion on the opposite side of the water.

However, if you arrive at the mansion after four, as the sun begins to set, the illusion shifts, leading you to the very mansion where the woman from the legend actually murdered the man.

The other mansion was cleverly constructed to mask any suspicions and erase traces of the events that transpired at the original estate.

The oppressive atmosphere around the real mansion muffles sound to the point where hardly anyone can hear, leaving only the red wolves to howl in the night.

I was ambushed while trying to contact Darius around two in the morning, when the town had fallen into a deep silence. Only a few pubs and utility shops remained open, but they were far from my location.

On my second attempt to flee, she confined me to the basement with some kind of creature. It was too dark for me to identify it, but it attacked me, forcing me to defend myself. This was not the moment for compassion towards animals.

In that pitch-black space, I grabbed anything I could find and killed it. Its lifeless body lay rotting beside me for the next four days, its blood staining my skin.

On the fifth day, she released me, but my fear for Amery intensified when I was taken to a room filled with multiple monitors mounted on the wall, displaying every movement in the town. I was horrified to see images and videos of my wife.

The agony of witnessing her under constant surveillance, even when she was away from town, consumed me with dread.

I was indifferent to my own fate, but anything that posed a threat to her unleashed a primal rage within me.

I vividly recall lunging at Willow, my body smeared with filthy blood, as I tried to strangle her in my desperate attempts to end her life. This time, even her dog couldn't pull me away; instead, that bastard struck me on the head with a glass vase three times, followed by a steel chair.

Injured and sprawled on the ground, I felt a sharp pain when she stepped on my right hand with her heels, driving them deep into my flesh. The sting of pain forced a scream from my lips, but it was her threat to harm Amery if I didn’t obey her that truly sent me over the edge.

I distinctly remember striking her then, taking on both her and her dog. If it hadn't been for the foul-smelling chemical she sprayed in my face, causing me to lose consciousness, I would have finished her for good.

Somehow managing a call with my father, hiding from her constant surveillance, I tried to explain the bizarre circumstances that led to my separation from Amery.

Who would have thought my wife would lose her mind, dig up graves, and launch a rescue mission for me?

But in the end, all she found was sheer betrayal.

I wrapped up the whole sob story, leaving the final decision and control in her hands. If she chose to believe me, I’d consider myself fortunate, but if she didn’t, I had no right to prevent her from walking away, and perhaps she should. I was dirty, and I felt so. I was consumed by a heavy sense of regret.

"That's all I have to say. If you have any questions, just ask." I attempted to peer through the curtain of her hair that hid her face.

She sat beside me on a small chair, her head lowered. There was no sound, not even a whisper, but the visible tremor in her shoulders revealed that she was crying. It was far too quiet, and it broke me.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke. "What does she want from you?"

“Tyson was responsible for her brother's death, and she wanted him out of the picture. It’s likely that she was the one who killed him and staged it as a burglary. Now that she spotted me in an article, she probably thought Tyson had returned to finish what he started, which in this case, meant coming after me. Her suspicion about my identity being linked to Tyson was likely confirmed by my prison time. In her mind, I had become him. What puzzles me, though, is how she is still alive when Elijah claimed she was dead.” I admitted, feeling a sense of confusion.

Amery gathered her hair into a bun, wiping her tears and snot on her hoodie sleeves.

She looked at me, her eyes swollen and red, yet there was no trace of hatred in them, which was perhaps all I needed at that moment.

I didn’t require declarations of love; that would be too much considering what she had seen. But if she was willing to sit and listen to my side before making her judgment, I had no issue with that. At least there was no hatred in her eyes, and that brought me some comfort.

"I suspect Elijah was covering for her, and they were both in cahoots," she said, and I nodded in agreement, grasping the situation.

It felt more plausible to address our questions, yet there were still too many lingering ones, and we both recognized that we needed time before facing them.

"Ro."

I tensed when Amery placed her hand over mine. It was unexpected, and I wasn’t prepared for it.

She locked eyes with me, offering a crooked smile as fresh tears welled up.

"Let’s go home, Ro. Let’s just go home," she sobbed, climbing onto the bed and straddling my lap, showering my face with kisses and wrapping her arms around me.

I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of happiness, pain, and anxiety, all stemming from my raw fear of what lay ahead.

In spite of everything, I kissed her forehead and swallowed hard, whispering, "Yes, sweetheart. Take me home."