Page 22 of A Silence So Divine

Back in the kitchen, I scrub furiously at the dishes until my hands are raw. The water is scalding, but I pay no mind. The window in front of the sink is fogged from the steam. I stare into cloudy nothingness while I wash.

If I had known about his mark before, would I have saved him?Yes, I think to myself,you would have.And although I’d like to think it’s because I’m selfless and kind, I really know it’s because I’m terrified of being alone. I’d rather live under the same roof assomeone who wants me dead than in isolation. What does that say about me?

A cold hand on my shoulder has me whipping around, the glass in my hands slipping and crashing to the floor. Creed jumps back and begins to laugh, signing a“sorry”. It’s not until he catches my eye that he gives pause.

“Eden?”He begins, the concern evident on his face.“What happened? Is he okay?”He reaches for my hands, and I flinch back.

Any ideas I had of telling him about what I saw leaves me at once. Cecil is his brother, the person he loves the most in this world. He’s known me for less than two months, and he’s known his brother for twenty years. I would be a fool to feel entitled to his loyalty.

“Of course. He just finished dinner,”I tell him. His eyes roam my face, trying to interpret my expression. There’s no hiding from Creed, so I resort to lying.

“I’m not feeling well. Do you mind if I go to bed?”I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that the taste of copper fills my mouth. The burning in my hands is catching up to me, and I tuck them behind my back and out of sight.

His eyes soften. “Yeah, go ahead. You can sleep in my bed if you want. I’ll stay down here with him,”he tells me. His freckled cheeks are rosy from the cold, and he’s still wearing the puffy coat that I borrow. I want nothing more than to wrap myself around him and take advantage of the comfort that only he has ever provided. But I can’t, because if I do, I’ll break.

I muster up a thankful grin and step around him, not bothering to say good night. I feel his eyes on me the whole way out of the room.

And I am alone again.

Ten

Eden

Sleep evades me. The gray glow of a far away moon grants me just enough vision to watch the clock, its ticking a constant taunt. I’ve been staring at the ceiling for approximately four hours. It’s minutes past midnight, and the house has long been silent. No creaking or movement, only the whistle of wind outside. Creed was right about the incoming storm.

I lay in his bed, previously used as one of the many guest rooms in our house—not that we everhadguests. Every room is decorated differently—this one a deep blue with golden accents and mahogany wood. It’s aged and fuzzy with dust, as is everything else under this roof. The only life this house holds was carried in with the brothers’ arrival.

Sweat tickles at the back of my neck even with the frigid temperatures. I’ve been imagining scenario after scenario of how this will play out, none of which end well for me. I wish I’d never seen the mark, and I could carry on in blissful ignorance.

If he does intend on killing me, staying is no longer an option. As much as it would pain me to leave Creed, I can’t wait around with the hope that he’ll spare me. Though my father neverdiscussed his line of work, I know it was deeply rooted in his values—values that robbed me of my voice and locked me away all this time.

It’s too much of a coincidence that Cecil would lead them all the way out here. The house is desolate, hidden from all sides but one. The chances of someone stumbling upon the place is slim to none. For all I know, my father sent him here. How else would Creed have found me so easily? Nausea churns my gut and my eyes well with tears. Itrustedhim. Has he been deceiving me all this time?

There is no peace for people like me.

My chest feels like it might cave in from heartbreak. Desperation conquers, and I throw the covers aside. I have to know, or I’ll implode. And no matter how terrible I feel, I can’t allow myself to hurt someone.

I reach the door silently, opening it as inchmeal as I can. It creaks despite my efforts, but I’m certain it’s not loud enough to be heard from downstairs.

Cecil’s room is down the hall, and I make my way towards it. Here, the dark is absolute. The only sound is that of my breath, and the slight glide of my fingertips along the wall.

Before entering his room, I halt my lungs and listen intently. Silence. Wind. The slightest clink of metal from the doorknob as I twist it in my palm. Pushing the door open just wide enough to slip through, I step in and opt not to close it behind me. The space is a vortex of black. There are candles in each room, so with a tight grip on hope, I fumble blindly until I find one. A box of matches is on its side to the right, and I thank the heavens when I open it to find a lone stick. The tiniest of flames bursts into existence when I strike the match, and the heat licks down, dancing towards my fingers. A mere centimeter from my knuckle, the candle ignites. I extinguish it with the flick of mywrist. Sulfur tickles my nose, and the golden aura surrounds me as I sneak through the room.

While Creed’s room is scattered with clothing and books, Cecil’s is desolate. Everything is tucked away in drawers, nothing personal enough to indicate someone lives here. It presents exactly as he is: private.

Minutes tick by and my anxiety climbs higher. There must besomething. I rummage through every drawer, every pocket on every pair of pants. Nothing.

Disappointment conjures a grunt in my throat and I lower myself into a wingback chair in the corner of the room. With an exhale, I sink into the cushion. The faintest crinkle sounds beneath me. My pulse jumps, and I dig my fingers into the crease. Something stiff and plastic-like is hidden within the seat.

Whipping around, I lift the cushion and am met with a matte black folder. There’s a withering fragment of me that wants to ignore my findings and race back to the safety of Creed’s bed. But not knowing is unbearable. I set the candle on the dresser and peel it open.

The elation of unearthing a secret is instantly snuffed out once I’m able to make out the contents before me.

Dozens of pages of people’s names and information, written out in neat handwriting; their address, their age, what they do for a living. Everything you could possibly know about someone, meticulously catalogued. Some have a photo of the person attached. And at the very bottom of each page, in bold letters, an affliction is noted.

NON HEARING

HYSTERIA