Page 52 of Split

It isn’t long before I realize what an impossible task this is with my vision so horribly obstructed. The greenery of the maze all blends together, so I have to triple-check every stroke of my pen. It’ll take me days to sketch out the whole thing at this rate, and I’ve already had to wait a week for this chance at exploring the tower.Who knows if I’ll survive another one?

Rather than allowing this failure to crush my ambition, I immediately begin thinking of possible ways to solve the problem. Roman only just left, after all. I’ve got time to figure this out before he returns. Within minutes, a new approach begins to take shape in my mind.

With a burst of renewed energy, I scurry down from the tower, changing course and heading outside. The dogs are nowhere in sight as I cross the lawn, and for once I’m glad they aren’t around. They’d only distract me. Right now, I need to stay focused if I’m going to pull this off.

Keeping a lookout for Lev, I stride determinedly in the direction of the garden shed, intending to get my hands on a tool to pry a board loose from the tower window. There’s nobody in sight as I approach the small building, and when I test the door handle, I find it unlocked.Must be my lucky day.

The rusty hinges creak in protest as I push the door open, my eyes widening when I get a look at the cluttered mess of junk jammed inside the small shed. There’s bound to besomethingin here I can use.

“Jackpot,” I hiss under my breath, ducking in and pulling the door closed behind me. A single bulb hangs from a cord attached to the ceiling, but there isn’t any readily apparent way to switch it on. The only other source of light in the shed is a small, dingy window at the rear, and the visibility it provides leaves a lot to be desired. Not ideal, but I’ll just have to make it work.

After giving my eyes a minute or so to adjust, I begin scanning the shelves and surfaces on the interior of the shed, carefully stepping over the equipment strewn on the floor as I venture further in. Honestly, I’m not really sure what I’m even searching for, but I feel like I’ll know when I find it.

As I near the back of the shed, I spot a hammer resting upon a small workbench, a giddy wave of titillation rushing through me as I lean over to snatch it up. Of course, the moment I do, the door to the shed creaks open behind me.

“Can I help you with something, Mrs. Volkov?”

I startle at the sound of Lev’s voice, the hammer slipping from my grip as I whip around in alarm. It clatters to the floor and I jump away to avoid it hitting my feet, tripping over the wheel of a lawnmower in the process. My body pitches forward, but as ancient as he is, Lev has surprisingly good reflexes. He manages to lunge and catch me by the arm before I go down, righting mewith an amused chuckle.He’s stronger than he looks, too.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he says apologetically, letting go of my arm once I’m steady on my feet.

“No, no, you’re fine,” I breathe, smoothing my hair back and fighting to regain my composure.

Lev cocks his head as he appraises me. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” he asks curiously.

“Uh, I was looking for you, actually,” I lie, shocked at how easily it rolls off my tongue.I suppose everything gets easier with practice.“I was hoping you could point me to the gardening shears?” I ask with a hopeful smile, pretending Idon’tsee them hanging on the wall right over his left shoulder.

“Shears?” he repeats, his bushy gray brows pinching together. “For what?”

“I was going to clip the last of the dahlias,” I explain, piecing together this excuse remarkably fast. “Clara mentioned there’s acold front coming, so I figured I’d bring some inside so I could enjoy them a little longer.”

Lev’s eyes crinkle at the corners with his responding grin. “I can do that for you, ma’am,” he offers readily. “I’ll bring some flowers in to Clara...”

“I’d like to do it myself,” I interrupt, a little too forcefully.

His smile slowly fades, brows knitting together in concern. “Okay, no problem,” he murmurs, darting his gaze back and forth shiftily. “I’ll just have to dig out the shears. If you come back tomorrow, I can help you with whatever you need.”

I flicker a glance at the large pair of gardening shears hanging on the wall right behind him, my stomach sinking.He means he’ll help me with whatever Roman gives him permission to.Like Clara, Lev’s loyalty will always be to my husband.

“Sure, that sounds good,” I agree, flashing him a sugar-sweet, fake-as-fuck smile. “Thanks, Lev. You’re the best.”

“Anything for you, Mrs. Volkov,” he drawls with a blush. Stepping aside, he gestures to the open door, and I give him a polite nod as I shuffle past him to leave the shed.

So much for my master plan with the tower.There’s no point in going back up there to scout an escape route if I can’t see worth a damn, so unless Lev miraculously decides to call it quits for the day and head home, this whole mission is a bust.

It’s hard not to give up and sink into hopelessness when nothing ever seems to work out in my favor. Dragging my feet in resigned defeat, I glare at the hedge maze as I make my way around the side of the manor, wishing I could just burn the damn thing to the ground.Pretty sure I saw a gas can or two in the shed.

Getting lost amongst the shrubbery actually doesn’t sound like the worst idea right now. I’ve still got my notepad with me, so I could try to map the maze from the inside…

I wander toward the entrance as I consider my options, changing my mind at the last second when I look past the hedges to the little cemetery plot situated at the edge of the forest. I’ve mostly avoided going near it, but right now it’s as if the graveyard is calling outto me like a macabre siren song, renewed curiosity drawing me in.

From the moment I step foot in the cemetery, I get the distinct feeling I’m being watched. Unease prickles at the back of my neck as I stroll the rows of dilapidated gravestones, eyes eagerly combing over the names and dates inscribed upon them. Some are so old that they’ve become illegible, but my husband’s ancient relatives are of little consequence to me. I’m looking for the more recent casualties of Volkov manor. I’m looking for the one everybody refuses to talk about.

Turning down the last row and slinking past the mausoleum, my stomach bottoms out when I spot a grave that looks out of place amongst the rest, far too fresh to be passed off as anything but recent. My palms instantly turn clammy, my heart leaping into my throat. Even withouta headstone, I have a gut feeling that I know who’s buried beneath the soil.

She looked like me, and we go by the same name here at the manor.

Mrs. Volkov.

---