Sylvester stares down at his coffee, as if the black sludge he drinks is going to provide him with a suitable lie.
I haven’t forgotten about the woman standing in the ocean soon after we arrived. She disappeared without a trace, but she lingers in the back of my mind.
It doesn’t help that things have been going missing. Yesterday, I had been readingWuthering Heightsand left it on the end table. When I came down this morning, it was gone, and I haven’t been able to locate it since. Not under or between the cushions and not on the bookshelf. Sylvester seemed clueless as to where it went, deepening my suspicions.
Seems like he’s been hoarding more restless spirits than he lets on.
“My daughter did. Trinity.”
My brows shoot up my forehead.
Okay, I wasn't expecting that one.
“One of the reasons why my wife left me. The grief was too much for her, and she blamed me for Trinity's death.”
I nod slowly, studying him closely. It's not that I don't necessarily believe him, but there's just something about Sylvester that makes me question every single word out of his mouth.
“How did it happen?”
He sniffs, glancing at me. “S'pose it's only fair since ya'll shared so much with me last week,” he mutters.
I just manage to bite my tongue. That wasn't a sweet moment where we all had a heart-to-heart and made fucking friendship bracelets.
“Trinity wasn't happy here. Wanted to leave, but we was tryin' to make it work as a family. I knew it would happen eventually. She was a teenage girl and felt like she was missin’ out on life. My wife and I were worried, but I was still working at the time and couldn't just up and leave. Raven wanted to take her somewhere else, but Trin was only sixteen and couldn't stay anywhere by herself, so that meant they would all be leavin' me. Kacey was fourteen and didn't want to stay here with ’er old man, either.”
He ambles toward the island and leans against it heavily, staring off into space and reliving the memory.
“We was fightin' a lot. I didn't want them to go. Trin decided to take matters into her own hands and hung herself outside the window.”
I turn to stare out the windows on either side of the front door, imagining what it must've been like to look over and see your daughter's feet dangling right outside, swinging back and forth. It's morbid as fuck, and I feel a pinch of sympathy for the old man.
“Raven left with Kacey two days later. Couple of months after that, the lighthouse shut down due to a newer and more advanced structure being built. Been alone ever since.”
“Why didn’t you go to be with them once it shut down?”
He’s agitated, his lips twitching and his fingers stroking his beard.
“They hated me, and I loved being here. I knew that if I left, ain’t none of us would’ve been happy with my being there.”
Maybe his wife and daughter would’ve forgiven him had he only made an effort and prioritized them, but it doesn’t matter now. And I’m not interested in therapizing the old man.
Sylvester meets my stare, guilt swirling in his eyes.
“She cried a lot.”
Then, he drops his gaze and ambles toward the stairs. I stare off into space as the clink of metal groans beneath his weight, slowly fading away.
My gaze cuts to the window again, and instead of looking from the inside out, I'm standing right outside the front door, a girl dangling from a rope. Then, the faceless girl fades into the image of Sawyer, her body swaying in the air. Another sad soul that found a different way out.
My throat closes, and it feels like a punch to the chest. I shake my head, pinching my eyes shut and rubbing them harshly with my finger and thumb to banish the fucked-up thought from my brain.
I'm not ready to admit why it's so fucking hard to breathe.
The witch has done enough damage; the last thing I need is her needling her way into my head like a worm in an apple, eating at my common sense and self-preservation.
È una maledetta bugiarda, and I can’t look at her without being teleported back to that damn step outside the church, a priest at my side, consoling me because my mother lied to me, too. They both stole so much of my life from me and left without a backward glance. Without remorse.
Yet, the urge to go find her and fight with her again is almost unbearable. Growling in frustration, I swipe my hands over my hair, the strands longer than I’m used to. Seeing her is a bad idea. I still want to fucking throttle her, but fuck if I don’t want to kiss her, too. Even worse, I want to protect her while also wanting to protect myself from her.