Page 6 of Fallen Petal

Chapter 2

J

I’m worked up and strained when I get back up to the house, even though I haven’t heard a single word from Malia. There’s no reason to believe that anything went wrong during my time of absence, but leaving Petal unattended like this preyed on my mind.

It’s shortly after noon when I park in the driveway up to my mansion, greeted by the balmy Indian Summer sun as I jump out the car. Malia is nowhere to be found, not on the deck facing the sea, and nowhere inside on the first floor. She’s told to stay away from the second floor unless she’s ordered to bring her friend something to eat. Outside those duties, she’s to stay on the first floor, preferably inside, or on the third floor right beneath the roof, where she has her own bedroom, away from mine and Petal’s, but still close enough to be there when needed.

Not being met with her questioning face upon entering the house surprises me, as I thought she’d be anxious to hear how my meeting with Christopher went. She’s probably upstairs taking a nap, as she often does during this time of day.

Nonetheless, my heart is racing with concern when I check the display downstairs, just a small screen right next to the door, disguised as what could be an intercom for the main entrance, but if one knows to push the right buttons, the screen comes alive with the only image I need to see right now.

Her. My Petal.

She’s curled up on her bed, hidden beneath the sheets, with only her long ash-blonde waves peeking out from under the covers. Everything seems in order and calm, just as it should be. But the sight of her is still peculiar. I’ve never witnessed her sleeping during this time of day. It’s about an hour before Malia is sent to bring her lunch, and she’s usually wide awake during that time, strolling through her room or climbing up on the bench that she’s pushed below one of the windows. I’ve seen her stand on it, balancing on a small tower of cushions, as she stretches as high as possible, often closing her eyes as she appears to take in deep breaths of air. I never addressed it, because I don’t want her to refrain from doing such things. It’s too much fun to watch her, wondering what might be going through her pretty head as she makes her way around the princess chamber I’ve built for her.

Today, she’s sleeping instead. Maybe she isn’t feeling well?

I take two steps at once as I make my way upstairs, marching toward her room at a fast pace, only hesitating for her benefit as I hammer in the numeral combination to unlock the door to her bedroom. I open the door just a little, letting a moment pass to give her a chance to obey my omnipresent command.

On her knees. Palms up. Head down.

That’s exactly how I find her, kneeling on the carpet next to the bed. Her hair is as ruffled as the sheets she just peeled herself out of, and one of the straps of her white gown has slid down her shoulder, almost exposing her left breast entirely. Just a few days ago, she would have hurried to fix it, worried about being exposed in front of me. But she no longer seems to care, not after I’ve not only seen everything, but pretty much taken everything from her, too.

Everything but...

I step closer, reveling in the way her body quivers as I approach her. It’s hard to tell whether she fears me more or less than she did on the first day, but her apprehension is apparent in every breath she takes.

“Good girl.”

My praise is met with silence, but she moves when I place my hand at the back of her head, jerking away from my touch at first, before she seemingly recovers herself and lets it happen.

“You were sleeping,” I say, beckoning her to look up at me with a gentle pull on the hair at the back of her head. “Why so tired?”

She doesn’t respond, but when she tilts her head back to follow my demanding gesture, the answer is written all across her face. Puffy eyes, colored in red and framed with a thin crust of salt above rosy cheeks, and lips so dry the skin is shelling.

She’s been crying. A lot.

But why? Why now? I have barely touched her during the last two days, keeping my distance to give her room to adjust to the new situation and the things that transpired after I brought her up here. Today was meant to be different. After getting my meeting with Christopher out of the way, I knew I’d be ready for the next step—and so would she.

But looking at her now, I might have other things to deal with first.

“Petal, is anything wrong?” I ask in a low voice, getting down on my knees to be on the same eye level with her. “Did anything happen?”

She looks at me through sore and caked eyes, her lips trembling as she tries to grasp a response that seems hard to come to her. It must have been days since I’ve last seen her this troubled, this stirred up. It’s almost as if she knew about the commotion her disappearance has caused, about the painful meeting I just had to endure, and about the forces that are out there in raging fit, moving heaven and hell to find her.

But she can’t know. She can’t possibly know anything.

“Talk to me,” I urge her, placing my right hand on her shoulder with a tight squeeze that makes her grimace. “Tell me what’s wrong, Petal. Did you have another vision? A dream?”

Her eyes are glassy, a watery layer shimmering above the deep green of her iris as she’s tearing up.

“We are close to the sea, aren’t we,” she utters, catching me off guard with a statement as random as that.

“I think I could hear it when we were walking up here. And I can smell it, through there.”

She points toward the window, the one that she spends so much time at, balancing on her pillow tower on top of the bench.

“You were careless,” she whispers. “There’s a little crack in the boards. Tiny, really. You can’t even see it. But you can see the sun through there. You can tell whether it’s day or night. And you can smell the fresh air that comes through it. I can smell it, the salt, the sea. The ocean must be very close.”

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