Page 81 of A Silence So Divine

So, here I am, wandering around this creepy ass mansion.Again.

It worries me to think of Eden alone with my brother. Not because I don’t trust him to protect her—I do believe he intends to—but because he isn’t themostemotionally intelligent. Not to mention, what if something happens to them both? He wouldn’t tell me where they were going, only that they’d be home by lunch.

“It might help her,”he had said. When I asked how, I was met with an all too familiar glare. And Eden, of course, shrugged cluelessly.

Blowing a raspberry with my lips, I trudge down a corridor, eyeing the macabre artworks. Cobwebs twine around the edges, dust making the images appear blurry.

Near Eden’s room, I spot the thin door I’ve always assumed was another closet. Since moving in, we’ve hardly explored this place. Finding a girl in the attic took precedence, so scouring the rest of the house fell to the wayside.

Curious, I step forward and turn the knob. Locked. Uh oh. Last time this happened, it wasn’t as simple as a weird room that someone was ashamed of. In normal circumstances, I might open it to find your usual suspects. Sex dungeon, room full of collectable dolls, a hoard of guns and money. Ya know, something interesting enough without completely changing the trajectory of your life.

Tracing my finger over the woodgrain in the old door, I weigh my options. If I were smart, I would leave well enough alone and move on with my day. But…

This is why I shouldn’t be left to my own devices.

I march to the kitchen and throw open the knife drawer, searching for an adequate lock-picker. Buried at the bottom lies a thin, pointed paring knife. I snatch it up.

The handle unlocks easily, and I’m not sure if it’s luck on my side or misfortune. To be safe, I twist the knife into my fist, brandishing it like a weapon. Surely if there were another person locked away, they’d be starved to death by now.

One can hope.

Lingering outside, I take a steadying breath. I can do this. It’s just a room.

With one swift push, the door gapes. I hop behind the wall, peering around the doorframe. No staircase—that’s a good sign. The curtains are closed, the room dim and dusty. But itisonly a room. An office, if I were to guess. A large oak desk is pushed along the far side wall, a lamp sat on the edge. A lounging chair is in the corner, a throw blanket strewn across.

And… that’s it.

But I’m still going to scour through every drawer in the desk.

Despite myself, a mischievous grin spreads over my face. Cecil is going to shit when he finds out I’ve broken into yet another room. Serves him right for leaving me alone.

I yank the curtains open first. Dust particles fly into the air, tickling my sinuses. The office is much like the rest of the house. Dark, cold, lifeless.

Sliding open the top drawer, I’m met with a thick stack of newspaper clippings. I don’t bother pulling them out, choosing instead to flip through quickly. Every headline is a missing persons report—much like the one Cecil showed us when he spilled the beans of what he’s been up to all these years. I narrow my eyes. I would consider it a coincidence, but as I’ve realized lately, very few things are coincidences.

The newspaper clippings give me the creeps, so I move to the next drawer.

A cigar box filled with—you guessed it—cigars. There are also pens and pencils, a matchbox, and a flask. A ring glints in the low light, and I lift it to inspect the bizarre emblem etched into the gold. It’s not quite a cross, but a variation of one. Wrinkling my nose, I let it slip from my fingers.

Only one drawer remains. I’m both relieved and disappointed that I haven’t found anything extraordinary. The missing persons articles are unnerving, but I already knew Eden’s dad was a whack job.

The bottom drawer is the tallest of them all, and it takes a few jiggles and kicks to get it to pop open. Dropping to my haunches, I lift out a dust covered journal. The face of it is leather, and the pages are yellowed with age. Now,thiscould be interesting.

I open the first page as quick as my fingers allow.

June 6th, 2033

The baby is due any day now. She has grown cold towards me. I tell her she looks beautiful, but sheseldom lets me touch her. All I can do is pray that this child will bring us closer once more.

June 9th, 2033

She will not look at me. She’s withdrawn even more, if that’s possible. I’ve asked if she fears the birth, but she claims that she’s only tired. I hope that is the truth.

June 10th, 2033

Contractions have begun. She’s in great pain, but she won’t allow me to take her to the hospital. She insists on giving birth without help, here at the house. I worry of complications, but I have faith in the Lord. All will be as it should.

June 11th, 2033