Page 112 of Forbidden Lessons

There’s another bookshelf in here, much smaller. Journals and stacks of paper covered in hand-written notes, like discarded drafts of a book. I rifle through some of them, but it’s all psychobabble that is way too highbrow for me to decipher.

Something shiny catches my eye. I turn to the desk and stare at the big gift-wrapped package sitting near his computer’s keyboard. I walk over and run my hand down the beautiful black paper, the embossed gold design skimming against my fingertips.

Must be a gift for someone, but there’s no card, no name.

I gently pick it up, weighing it. I thought it was a box, but it’s too floppy.

Heavy, too, and unfortunately still sealed up tight. If I could peel off the tape without damaging the paper, I’d have risked opening it.

I search the rest of the room, but I don’t find the spiral-bound notebooks. I’m just about to leave when I see the practically invisible door beside a monochromatic painting. The wood is painted the same color as the wall, and even has a rough texture applied to it, as if to make it blend in.

I dismiss the painting until I get close enough to make out the details. I thought it was an abstract, but it’s a high contrast print of a black-and-white photograph, washed in a pinkish sepia.

It’s a photo of an electric chair, the wall behind it washed in deep shadow. There’s a small signboard near the top right of the wall, nearly indistinguishable.

SILENCE

I’m surprised this wasn’t included in Bastian’s presentation on cruel art the other week. Dante and Virgil have nothing on this cruelty. I look away from the chilling artwork and try the handle on Professor Rooke’s mystery door.

Screw that. I’ve made it this far. A silly photo won’t scare me off.

But the door is locked.

I jiggle the handle a few more times, and then stop, tilting my head at a sound.

The rough texture brushes my skin as I carefully press my ear against the door and hold my breath.

There’s a low hum coming from the other side of the door.

Maybe it’s a generator or something. From the solar panels covering the roof, I assume this whole place is off grid. Guess the electrical stuff has to go somewhere inside the house, and it’s not like this place has a basement.

click

I jerk away from the door.

That sounded like it was right by my ear.

Relax, Haven. It definitely was not the sound of an electric chair warming up.

But trying to reassure myself does nothing to slow my furiously pounding heart as I hurry out of Bastian’s study like the devil is nipping at my heels. I shove the ice cream back in the freezer, toss the spoon in the sink, and bundle up my sundress with the notes Professor Rooke left for me to study.

My appetite for sleuthing, rocky road, and this head trip of a house have disappeared.

How bizarre.

A gust of icy wind hits me when I open the front door. I reluctantly turn around to fetch the hoodie I was wearing last night, pulling it over my head before leaving.

Now I just have to find my fucking car.

I’m almost disappointed when I spot the fender of my sedan peeking out between the trees. I’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes, sticking to the road leading away from Bastian’s house so that I don’t get lost in the woods.

It must have stopped drizzling last night, because the ground, while a bit spongy, is pretty much dry again. But thank God for this hoodie, because I think my toes have frostbite. If I’d left that house without this warm top, I might have ended up in the hospital with hypothermia.

The car complains mightily when I start it up, so I let it idle a few minutes before urging it back onto the road.

I try really hard not to dwell on the fact that the last thing I remember before Bastian’s house was climbing over the barrier at Lookout Point.

I try really hard not to think about Kai, either.

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