Undone: The Complete Duology, page 26
“This is a beautiful house,” I began, my voice a little raw from breathing in so much icy air outside.
I held my shoes in one hand and limped along on my bandaged ankle, though I had to admit the pain was already letting up. At least Mrs. Headmaster seemed to have made an accurate diagnosis.
She gave a little noise of acknowledgement.
“It’s quite a feat to keep a house of this age in such good shape,” I said, “and yet modernize it enough to live.”
Hopefully she didn’t catch on to all my fishing.
“We take great pride in our home, as does the entire town.” She pushed open one of the doors.
The wallpaper and dark wood theme continued into the guest bedroom. As if to drive the point home, a heavy canopy bed stood in the middle of the room, headboard against a wall, with a tufted bench at the end. The overhead bulb cast a yellow tint over the room as the icy storm beat at the windowpane behind the heavy gold drapes.
“Does Mister…Headmaster handle the upkeep?” I asked.
She must know that my father had worked on this place, but perhaps she would believe I didn’t realize that. After all, outside of the bubble, Thorn Tree wasn’t often spoken about. Most people didn’t have a reason to, and those who did had more reason not to discuss it.
“Arthur does some of the carpentry, but we had two major renovations done on the house in the last few decades,” she said, and I caught the hint of pride.
Truth be told, this actually was a gorgeous house. It would be difficult not to preen a little at the compliments.
“Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed any major changes had happened,” I said. “The house is just…timeless.”
“Yes, well, Arthur needed a home office—his work keeps him terribly busy—and the library was much too drafty to enjoy. Here, take these,” she said from the doorway, offering me her fist.
I put out my hand and she trickled two little pills into my palm.
“It’ll take the edge off.” She stared up at me with a blank expression, all signs of her former human emotion gone. “Keep your foot elevated, and you’ll be fine.”
Before I could reply, she left, closing the door behind her.
I rolled the pills around in my hand then hobbled over to the ensuite bathroom and downed the medication with a few handfuls of water from the faucet.
After drying my face with a towel on a hook on the wall, I set to work peeling out of the rest of my wet clothes. A few pieces of hay dropped from inside my jacket. In the bedroom, I pulled a heavy wooden nightstand near the heater on the wall and draped my clothes near it to give them a chance to dry.
I couldn’t search for the map until the household retired for the night. Hopefully these ghouls slept.
Naked as the day I was born, I lay on the bed, foot elevated on a stack of pillows, and stared up at the ceiling with my hands tucked behind my head. The chances my father had hidden the map in this room were slim to none, but I would ferret around the bedroom before I left. I had time. The storm wasn’t letting up anytime soon.
How was Gracie handling the snow out in the tent like that? I understood her motivation for taking off to the woods, but it still hadn’t been the most logical of ideas. Gracie was a fighter—a survivor—and she was probably already hunkered down and better prepared for the storm than I had been.
The amount of mental and physical abuse that woman had withstood in this town still hadn’t quite registered with me. I didn’t have the capacity to give it enough consideration yet. Once we were out of here, then we could have our respective freak outs and breakdowns. For now, we had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I winced at my swollen ankle; that was easier said than done.
If I couldn’t find this map, we were left relying on Gracie’s spell, and somehow, I suspected that was going to be earth-shattering. If we could just slip away in the night, that would be ideal. Hopefully, if I found the map, I could convince her to put aside her revenge for our safety.
Lexi had implied that even with the map, escape wasn’t going to be that simple, though. Was Grace correct? Was destroying Thorn Tree the only option?
I wasn’t ready to give up all other options yet.
My father had been in this town, in this house. He had planted a map for my brother to rise up against the town that he himself had only escaped by the sheer grace of Roberta. More than likely, it hadn’t been grace as much as removing him from her vision. That one Thanksgiving had been the coldest encounter I’d experienced in my life at that point, and it hadn’t been rivaled until entering Thorn Tree. To say the relationship between Roberta and my father was frosty was like saying the north pole was a little chilly this time of year.
I couldn’t imagine why she had come, unless my father had employed some town-centered leverage over her to see his son. Perhaps he had meant to impart the whereabouts of the map to my brother that Thanksgiving.
A new piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I’d only seen my brother once my entire childhood, and no one except my father had wanted that occasion to happen. If my suspicions were true, then my brother knew where the map was and how to get to it.
I just didn’t know where to find him. At this point, I had better chances at locating the map.
I pushed away the doubt threatening to cloud over my brain. One step at a time. That was all I had right now.
If I were my father, where would I hide the map? Somewhere the occupants of the house wouldn’t find by accident, that much was for sure. It wouldn’t be inside any cabinet or closet, not tucked in a vase. Yet it still would have to be accessible enough that Robert would have been able to grab it undetected. So it probably wasn’t sealed inside a wall with no access point that didn’t require a sledgehammer.
Also, the location would have to be a place that my father had been able to access during the renovation. According to Mrs. Headmaster, the most work had been on Mr. Headmaster’s home office and the house library. That at least narrowed it down—I hoped.
I struggled against dozing, keeping an ear tuned towards the house outside the doorway. Every time I thought it would be safe to proceed with my search, a noise would come from the kitchen, or a door would close.
Somewhere around eleven, someone knocked on my bedroom door.
“Hold on!” I bolted upright, then hobbled over to the nightstand and tugged on my boxers and jeans, which were still damp but at least warm. “Come in.”
Mrs. Headmaster peered in. “We’re off to sleep. Do you need anything before morning?”
“No, thank you.” I gave her my best smile. “I appreciate the hospitality. My foot is already feeling better.”
She gave my ankle a doubtful frown, then met my eyes. “If you need anything, there’s an intercom on the wall over there.”
I looked where she pointed to a yellow speaker next to the bed. I hadn’t even noticed it.
How quaint.
“Arthur is a light sleeper and has a quick trigger finger, so I wouldn’t be up banging around pans if I were you.”
Was it too late to retract my comment about hospitality?
“Understood, ma’am,” I said, trying to remind myself I was a grown up and hadn’t regressed the ten years she’d taken off my self-esteem.
She left without another word.
I dropped onto the edge of the mattress and stuck out my leg, gently moving my ankle. It twinged but it had vastly improved from just a few hours ago. I should be able to make my way around the house without falling into walls and tripping over thresholds.
I waited until midnight, verifying all sounds of the household had settled for the night and no one was up getting in one last chapter.
Then I slipped on the rest of my almost-dry clothes and eased open the bedroom door.
The lights beyond were on but dimmed. The house remained silent except for the storm continuing outside.
I couldn’t imagine how Gracie hadn’t frozen out in this. Maybe at the last minute she changed her mind and decided to take shelter inside her house. She didn’t have many other places to go, or to be.
My shoe felt tighter due to the bandage on my foot, but the bulk of the wrap was above the topline, so my step was a little stiff but workable. I kept in mind Mrs. Headmaster’s not-so-subtle warning. What would I say if they caught me outside the guest room? That I fancied some hot cocoa?
The hallway ended in a T, and I flipped a mental coin before heading right. This house required a map of its own just to navigate. I didn’t dare check beyond any of the doors, worried I might open up an occupied bedroom. Hopefully, the rooms I needed would be apparent in some way.
I reached a dead end, then turned back and made my way the other direction, taking the left at the T this time. Up ahead, one of the rooms had double glass doors. I picked up my pace and then peered into the dim light beyond.
Wooden file cabinets stood against the wall to one side of a large desk with an empty chair facing out towards the door. A large globe stood in the corner and a brass clock hung opposite the file cabinets.
I looked both ways down the hall before opening the door and slipping inside. I left all the lights off, working in the ambient glow from the hallway lamps streaming through the glass.
The room didn’t leave a lot of places for a hidden map, and yet somehow also had too many. I checked the walls, palm pressed against the wood panel, looking for a secret compartment. When that failed, I tried to peer behind the file cabinets, but couldn’t make out anything except dust. Stifling a sneeze, I turned my attention to the wooden flooring, checking each step for a loose board.
Nada.
Maybe it was behind the clock? In the ceiling?
This is the worst Easter egg hunt ever, Dad.
Hopeless, I checked under the desk for hidden storage, then pawed around in the drawers while I was there. Nothing but handmade pens and a wax seal set.
Mr. Arthur Headmaster took the aesthetic all the way.
For the sake of completion, I eased open the top drawer of the nearest filing cabinet. I doubted the map would be neatly tucked into a folder under M, but if the library proved as frustrating as this room, my dash through the blizzard might have been for nothing.
Where the fuck was Robert? Why hadn’t my father told me about the map?
He didn’t know I was going to Thorn Tree.
There was that. It had been a spur of the moment idea, and I had never gotten warm fuzzies from Dad about his connection to Thorn Tree—he seemed uninterested at best—so it hadn’t occurred to me to even discuss my trip with him. I’d left in the night, after notifying my partner I was going without the precinct’s blessing, and that had been that.
Now it all seemed a different lifetime.
The first drawer of the filing cabinet was a series of folders labeled with the months. A tickler file. I flicked my fingers over the tabs, then moved onto the next drawer. Alphabetical tabs were separated by thick folders organized by last name. The next drawer continued with the arrangement, as did the remaining two drawers. I moved onto the next file cabinet.
Two drawers down, I halted.
Miller, Grace.
My fingers twitched over the file. Arthur was the headmaster of the school, so this was just grades and attendance. I hardly cared if Gracie had placed in advanced algebra.
I took the file anyway. Perhaps it was some latent training not to leave behind anything that could be useful. Or perhaps it was that nagging little doubt in the back of my mind that there was still so much left to learn about Thorn Tree.
About Gracie Miller.
I would have to look at the contents of the folder later, once I was back in the guestroom. Arthur’s home office was overall proving to be a disappointment.
I could only hope that meant I’d narrowed down the map to being concealed in the library somewhere.
Now, to find said library.
Tucking the file under my arm, I exited the office and continued down the hallway in the direction I’d been heading. The hallway turned left, and I followed along, careful of my footsteps so I didn’t clomp around and rouse the beast.
The library stood open at the end of the hallway. Wooden bookshelves stretched floor to ceiling, the upper half accessible by a freestanding matching stairwell. To one side of the stairs sat an overstuffed chair with an end table next to it. On the opposite wall, a recessed electric fireplace surrounded by a brick mantle and raised hearth.
Mrs. Headmaster had mentioned the library had been drafty. Seemed the old fireplace must not have been doing the trick.
I walked the room barely the size of a large bedroom, gently tugging books from the shelves, hoping one would release a lever like I was in some murder mystery movie. When no such spectacular event occurred, I tried more mundane options like checking the floorboards under the chair.
Placing the folder on the end table, I started up the stairs, mindful of my injured foot as I leaned into the railing. At the top, I hobbled along the ledge, scanning the tomes. Most were leatherbound, dusty, more for show than use. I plucked one from its spot on the shelf and opened it. A page fell out. Leaning down, I scooped it up and placed it back inside the book before returning the book to the shelf.
The heavy wood accents rose all the way to the domed ceiling. I couldn’t imagine what my father had done to this room. It didn’t look as if any major changes had occurred, and it was difficult to believe he had the woodworking skills to replicate 1800s vintage motif. Anything replaced in this room had been done by a master of his trade. As far as I knew, my dad only did electrical work.
My gaze dropped to the fireplace.
That was an upgrade, and it had to have been wired in through the old fireplace. Not a small task.
Goosebumps prickled up my arms. The map would be there, somewhere.
I worked my way down the stairs, leaning so heavily on the railing I feared it might crack. It stood the test, and I hurried to the fireplace as quickly as my ankle allowed.
Lowering to my knees, I dug my fingers around the edge of the electric fireplace, trying to pull it free but it was sealed tight. Hopefully he hadn’t put the map behind the device, or I was going to need power tools to get it out.
He had expected Robert to discreetly grab the map. That meant it was hidden in plain sight, accessible to my little brother.
What if Robert already had taken it? Perhaps he’d collected it after that Thanksgiving visit.
I had to hope he had waited until he was ready for it, then realized he wouldn’t need it because his mother could barter his freedom.
Had his mother known about the map? I doubted that. This had been a secret between my brother and father.
I’d always assumed I knew my parents as well as they knew me, but my relationship with my father, as it turned out, was one sided.
I tapped on the bricks up and down the mantle, looking for one that might be loose enough to pull out. Everything was grouted into place.
My father did excellent work, unfortunately.
Running my hand along the top of the mantle only dusted it off. No secret compartments.
Where the hell was the map?
My ankle throbbed, and I pressed both palms against the top of the hearth, leaning forward, sucking in deep breaths against the pain. All these bricks were set in place, two horizontal, then two vertical, all the way across.
Until the outer edge. In the far corner, tucked up against the mantle, were three, thinner bricks that took up the space of two. I leaned to the side, following the bricks down the side of the hearth. Three, all the way down.
I poked my finger at the top middle, and it wiggled like a loose tooth. After easing it up and out of place, I went for the next brick. My fingers scraped against the rough surface, already dry and cracked from the weather, and my nails bloodied as I dug out the bricks one by one.
The bricks opened into an empty pocket. Against my smarter instincts that disliked being bit by random spiders, I worked my hand down into the hole, scraping my knuckles.
My fingertips brushed a rolled-up paper. I grabbed it with two fingers and worked it out of its hiding place.
There was, no shit, a paper hidden in the hearth.
I unrolled the paper, ready to find the way out of this town. A big arrow with the words “this way” would have been ideal.
Except, I wasn’t even sure I had found a map at all. Two gently curving lines ran parallel to each other. At the end of the lines was something like a melting X with a line across the bottom, forming a sort of unfinished hourglass. Opposite of the symbol, on the other side of the paper, was a simple star. Scattered between the two symbols were five large squares.
Absolutely nothing was labeled. Nor were there any trees, mountains, or lines for the street.
I’d seen more insightful scribblings on park picnic tables.
Hopefully, this map would make more sense to Gracie. This was her town, after all. Surely these landmarks would translate to something useful.
I worked the bricks, laid out around me, back over the hole. The last one took a little effort to get back into place and scraped off the last layer of skin on my pointer finger. I dabbed up the smudge of blood with the bottom of my shirt then limped over to the chair, map in hand.
My entire body felt heavier than it had been moments ago, the weight of defeat vying with the last of my optimism. I had the map, but if Gracie couldn’t decode it, and I couldn’t find Robert, then it was hardly worth the effort.
I stuffed the map into my waistband at my back, my shirt concealing it from view, and then reached for the folder on the end table. The folder slipped in my bloody, shaking hand. A few papers fluttered free and drifted to the floor. The one poking out from the folder caught my eye, and I tugged it loose.
The paper contained one long block of text, as if the writer took a moral stance against using paragraphs. My mind was too fogged over with exhaustion and frustration to read cohesively, and my gaze flittered over the page before nailing to a phrase. I blinked a few times and forced myself to focus, to read it again.
First trimester.
The right corner of the page in all caps said Grace Miller. I roamed back over the page, picking out phrases and words but they blurred together.
